


A Turk Retirement

by Solitia



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, Retirement, Turks - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-14
Updated: 2009-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solitia/pseuds/Solitia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tseng picks up a new Turk in Wutai</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Turk Retirement

The song on the radio was starting to bore him and the dial switched, playing another song of a similar fashion. One of the channels he could get had to be better than the crap he was listening to presently, the soft lilting tones of his homeland not exactly fitting for driving along back roads at rather high rates of speed. The arrival of his passenger had brought back memories he hadn’t thought of in quite awhile and stirred something to life he’d thought had been lost with his relief of being home so many years before.

The channel changed again to some news channel with an announcer speaking in Wutaianese, that much was recognizable, but anything he was saying had been lost to road noise before the channel changed again. This tune was something peppy and upbeat, the announcer speaking in Mainland. The volume climbed and it was enough to rouse him a little further from addlebrained unconsciousness, something not entirely pleasant to come out of despite it being uncomfortable to stay in. His eyes were slow to open, but he was in the back seat of a vehicle and all he could see of its driver at first was long strands of black hair, a few silver strands dancing in the light amongst the depths of the dark sea of hair with only the pale shell of an ear outlined by a wave. The interior of the car was well lit. Daylight. His eyes flicked up to see the countryside passing very quickly past the windows, so he knew they were moving at a good pace.

Oh gods…. His stomach roiled, threatening him by retching.

Dark eyes flashed in the rearview mirror, staring at him even when they flicked back down at the road. “What is your name?” the man asked, his speech accented by the tongue of the land, but very clearly Mainland.

Brown eyes flicked up to the mirror and his jaw set. “I am not at liberty to disclose that information.” An automatic response he was told to given regardless of his situation. Give no information to anyone who could be a foreign spy.

A pause dawned and crested between them, stretching on beyond what was comfortable for normal conversation, the young man in the back seat dusting off the lapels of his now slightly rumpled black suit. The black tie tucked back into the tack and lay flat along the white dress shirt as his hands smoothed over it. He was vaguely aware as his weapon rubbed the seat that he was still armed. This man hadn’t bothered disarming him.

“You are from Midgar,” he told him, not asking or leaving a tone for response. It was a statement of pure fact. The length of black hair shifted as the driver looked over his shoulder before turning. “You come from Shinra.” His eyes lit on the small lapel pin at his collar.

There was no use denying anything about Shinra, but he also could not discuss his business in Wutai, so he stayed silent. It was better to say nothing than to incriminate oneself.

“What business brings you from Shinra?” he asked, still pressing as though he were on an interrogation. Something about the way the older man spoke alarmed the younger, set him slightly on edge as though he should be afraid of this man wearing formal silks and robes. Given the war with Wutai was primarily over after the peace talks done by President Shinra and a high ranking member of Turk long since retired he highly doubted the man pursuing breakneck speed down the dirt and gravel roads would be a threat, even if he did wear nice clothing. He stayed silent. It was best to stay silent than incriminate oneself. He’d had that literally beaten into his head by his trainers who had said after training they were only trying to keep him alive, something the young man highly encouraged and appreciated, not that he would ever let the trainers know that.

“Are you here with Turk? Here on official business?”

“I am not at liberty to discuss my business in Wutai,” the young man replied, hoping it would get through that he would not speak.

“Do not give me your red tape bullshit,” the older man spoke, a sharp edge to his voice that drew the young man’s attention immediately. “Tell me why you are here and how long you intend on staying before I have to take it out of your hide.”

The young man bristled, drawing his handgun and pressed it to the side of the Wutaian’s head. “You are not entitled to privileged information,” he ground out, glaring at the eyes reflected in the rearview mirror. “You will take me to the nearest airport so I may report back to my superiors.”

The eyes did not flinch, did not blink, and there was no show of fear oncesoever in the nearly black eyes that looked back at the brash young man. After several long seconds, the eyes crinkled just slightly and the man laughed out loud, turning his attention back to the road where he had drifted almost to the other side of the nearly single lane road. “Where’s my phone?” he asked, his hand rooting through a small bag he carried with him. A canister of long, thin needles rolled out over the seat before the hand withdrew and flipped open the top of the black device. With two quick flicks of his fingers he dialed a number and held it to his ear, the edge of the earpiece of the phone clicking slightly against the barrel of the gun still pointed at his temple. Without any sort of worry evident at all, he waited as the phone rang, someone answering the phone on the other end, the mumble of their voice audible in the vehicle.

“Put me through to Rufus Shinra,” he ordered, drawing a look of shocked surprise from the backseat driver. There was a pause in conversation and then the voice droning again. “Xian Xiang Tseng,” came the reply, dark eyes flicking up into the rearview again to view the youngster in the back seat. Without disappoint, doe eyes widened in shock and the barrel pulled back slightly from Tseng’s head. The dark eyes flicked back down to the road.

After a rather long pause there was a response on the other end of the line. Tseng chuckled slightly. “I don’t know which one of your dark suited children I have here, Rufus, but he nearly got himself killed.” Another pause, the ears of the young man pricking to try and pick up the conversation. “He says he wants to know your name, Turklet.”

The young man bristled at the nickname and frowned. “Aiden Christopher,” he replied loudly enough he hoped Rufus could hear him if that really was who was on the phone. One couldn’t be sure of intentions with any kind of certainty.

“Aiden Christopher,” Tseng repeated, waiting for an answer. The voice went on for several minutes before stopping for Tseng to reply. “He wishes to know on what authority you were given permission to be in Wutai.”

“If that really is Rufus Shinra you are speaking to he would know.”

Tseng’s eyes closed and he huffed a discouraged sigh. “Sir, one moment,” he instructed, pressing a button on his phone as he slowed to a stop in front of a small home with a rather large cherry orchard. “Continue, Sir. I will step outside of the car.”

Once the door was closed, Tseng watched the young Turk as he began first with stubbornness that faded into a softness that later became sheepishness. It was several minutes before he opened the door to the car.

Aiden was absolutely convinced this Wutaian was pulling something over on him. There was no way in hell he could have Rufus Shinra’s number on speed dial on his phone. No one in Wutai would have had that kind of connection outside of the Imperial family, he was sure.

“Aiden Christopher. Turk trainee. What is your present location?”

“Somewhere in Wutai,” he responded non-committally.

“And your trainers are where?”

“If you were Rufus Shinra, you would know.”

There was a long pause on the phone. “You will report to Claude and Edwin immediately. You were given a standard issue cell phone. Why are you not using it to relay information to your superiors?”

He knew names. That could be potential information available to those scratching surfaces. “My cell phone is not on my person.” He hadn’t thought about calling them. The thought had never once crossed his mind.

“I suggest you find it or I will take the cost of the phone out of your next paycheck. How were you separated from your trainers?”

“I do not know unequivocally that this is Rufus Shinra. I refuse to give that information.”

There was a voice in the background, one he recognized very well. “President Shinra, if he needs to know something to tell him that this is really you, you can tell him he has a little heart shaped mole on his right ass cheek and that he screams like a bitch when he’s gigged in the ass.”

Oh gods. Baby. He really was talking to his employer and the secretary really had just given out very personal information about him.

“Sir, there was an altercation in the training facility with a group of rebel insurgents,” he started quickly, stammering and trying to soothe any ruffled feathers. “They ambushed our group and we were scattered. I awoke in the back seat of the car and… and you know the rest, sir.” His cheeks were burning with shame more about the comment Baby had made than his attitude toward his employer or that he’d been separated and possibly kidnapped.

“Stay with Tseng until I can contact Claude. Do not make a nuisance of yourself.” The line disconnected and after a moment to compose himself, Aiden pushed the door open and stepped out of the car.

“President Shinra says I am to stay with you until he contacts my trainers,” he informed Tseng quietly.

“I had assumed as much.” Without another word, Tseng led the way to the front doors of the house, called for someone and stood waiting just outside until a small dog came bounding out of the door and ran out into the yard. The Wutaian man followed it into the grass so she could do her business. Aiden followed him without speaking and stood in silence beside him.

When a voice called, both heads swiveled in the direction, a group of women and children walking through the orchard toward them. Aiden watched them approach, several of the children picking up their pace, outdistancing the women a little at a time until they reached an invisible point and they all rushed forward, swarming Tseng. The two smallest of the children he scooped into his arms, the others all chattering to him in Wutaianese. Once the women neared, Aiden noted they were all around the same age and much younger than Tseng. One of the women held a child on her hip and gave Aiden a very long stare.

Tseng’s eyes, while first on the woman he was speaking to, shifted and his brows drew together in a micro expression before he handed off the two children and waved the gaggle toward the house. Without a word they all complied, leaving Tseng and his companion.

“You’re Tseng. You were the head of Turk,” Aiden stated, looking out over the orchard. “I’ve heard of you. We were always told a Turk retirement was going home in a full body suit, but you’ve retired. What did you do to earn your retirement?”

Tseng chuckled softly and the air was about him as though he might answer as a familiar fuzzy head appeared from around one of the trees, followed by a now graying man with a cigarette dangling from his lips and his hands tucked in his jacket pockets. They were a sight for sore eyes and some measure of comfort could be taken from the fact they were still alive and still together and still training Turks. A small smile graced distinguished features, turning just the corners up as he gave a slight nod in greeting.

“Your trainers, Aiden Christopher,” he responded as a form of dismissal to the young Turk as the two men strode closer and Tseng turned to leave.


End file.
